


The Oort Cloud

by Aloysia_Virgata



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 10, home again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 09:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5962708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aloysia_Virgata/pseuds/Aloysia_Virgata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wants no light just now, wants no familiar scents or sounds intruding. Mulder’s weight only, Mulder’s sweat and breath and heavy heartbeat at her breast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Oort Cloud

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the lovely @dashakay for the inspiration.

Their room overlooks the inlet where the waves sweep her parents back together, their atoms mingling in the bellies of fish. Somewhere else her mother’s lungs breathe, her kidneys keep delicate metabolic balance. Somewhere else her soul has risen.

Scully clutches the quarter at her neck, her five-gram mystery.  Darkness bleeds from her, bleeds back into her. She transfuses herself.

She wants no light just now, wants no familiar scents or sounds intruding. Mulder’s weight only, Mulder’s sweat and breath and heavy heartbeat at her breast.

He sits across the room on the bed, a solid presence in the shadows. Mulder is turned to her and she pretends nothing, she denies nothing.

Scully reaches up under her skirt, tugs her underwear down until they whisper to the floor. She walks to him, barefoot, to stand between his knees.

He runs his curled fingers down her cheek before dropping his hand to the bed, waiting. She unbuttons his shirt with steady hands, pushes it away from his broad shoulders and straddles his lap.

Mulder sighs but makes no other sound as she takes her blouse off. Her bra is a black satin balconette and she realizes now that she wore it in anticipation.

Five o’clock shadow rough against her palms when she cups his face.

He fumbles at his trousers and it’s 2000 again, it’s her and Mulder stumbling sideways into her apartment, where she left buttons scattered on the floor trying to get his shirt around that goddamn sling.

She woke up screaming in his bed once after Donnie Pfaster; not because she killed him but because she dreamed she hadn’t and Mulder brought her coffee and let her tremble without a word.

Behind her for the first time, she remembers that well, remembers blushing and groaning his name, her hair too short for him to wind his fingers through and so his hands gripped her waist and she practically came from that alone.

Now, though. Now he enters her and she weeps against his shoulder; heaving, silent sobs that leave mascara streaked across his skin. His hands clutch at her back, at the other place Philadelphia has marked her.

He thrusts up into the cold fire of her body, and she wants to apologize for how she is, for how she isn’t. She wants to give him back the past five years. She wants to give him back his son.

But it will break the spell to speak, it will send her back to the underworld, and so she looks up to see the shine of his eyes in the dark. Watches herself reflected back.

His hands slide up, massaging her biceps, her neck, tangling in her hair. Her scalp tingles, her thighs ache, and she expects there might be blood between them from such long abstention.

Their bodies remember this, even in mourning, and if desire is the Devil’s pitchfork, God shouldn’t have made it feel so good.

Scully, panting, licks her tears from his chest. She nips at his throat, his jaw, his chin.

He bites at her mouth, bruising kisses that make her ears ring. His fingers are laced behind her head, thumbs at her temples, and she imagines him drawing her pain out in long, crimson cobwebs.

Mulder grits his teeth against release, wanting more for her, but Scully craves the intensity of it and clenches herself around him. Five, six times, and then liquid heat against her own slick muscles. His breath is ragged in her ear, warm and living, and the tears come again. Scully burrows her head under his chin, sated for the moment.

To love and be loved like this, she realizes, is extraordinary. She hopes her son, lost to her but not to the light, will have it as well.


End file.
